Bittersweet Moments
by triggerhappy.antagonist
Summary: --Parental!RoyEd Oneshots-- Colonel Mustang likes to catch the rare moments when the Fullmetal Alchemist acts like a child, whether he's throwing a tantrum or cowering from a storm in Mustang's office. --Bonding; Fluff--
1. Of Infantile Tenacity

**Of Infantile Tenacity **

**-- --**

"Wudda'ya mean, there's no more juice?!"

Colonel Mustang surveyed the scene playing out before him, delight glittering in his dark eyes and provocative smirk safely concealed behind his mug of coffee. Edward Elric was once again inciting a commotion, no doubt about something utterly insignificant and facile.

"I'm sorry, Mister Elric, but we've sold our last bottle. Perhaps you can choose something else to drink."

"There _is_ nothing else! I wanted juice!"

The blond stood before the serving woman in the cafeteria line, positioned on the tips of his toes with his arms flailing about in his adoptive gesture of ire. The woman being addressed wore a frustrated expression as she nimbly ladled spoonfuls of stew into bowls.

"Are you _sure_ there's no juice left? A hunnert-percent positive _sure_? Did'ya check the back?"

"I assure you, Mister Elric that I looked in the backroom. There is no juice left. We have several other beverages you can choose from."

"But I don't _want _other beverages! I want _juice_!"

Edward punctuated his words by stomping his foot. Mustang could sense one of his notorious tantrums coming on like cumulonimbus clouds roiling before a storm. He took an idle sip of his coffee.

"Mister Elric, please. You're holding up the line and there are other people who are waiting to be served," the woman said with a sigh. "I assure you we will have some juice by tomorrow. Now, please, take this drink and move."

She dropped a small bottle into Edward's palm and then gestured for him to leave. Edward remained still, and stared down at the drink in his hand, his eyes dilated and mouth agape.

The woman noted the boy's aghast expression. "Drink; it's good for you. It'll help you grow taller."

_Oh! Now she's done it! _Mustang promptly choked on his coffee, a medley of apprehension and anticipation playing in his dark eyes. He regained his composure, and watched idly from afar as the thunder rolled in.

**-- --**

"What's with the face, Chief?" Lieutenant Havoc inquired as he bent over to look at the young blond, gesturing lazily with a finger at the dark scowl the boy sported on his face.

Edward's frown arched even more, and he tenaciously crossed his arms over his chest. "Nothin'," he grumbled without meeting Havoc's gaze.

"_Nothing_, huh?" The cigarette protruding from Havoc's mouth bobbed as he spoke. "Someone call you short again?" He took a seat beside Edward, leaning heavily against the wall and fondling his cigarette.

"_No!_" Edward snapped briskly. He calmed himself down and then mumbled, "cafeteria ran out'ta juice."

Havoc exhaled a ring of hazy smoke. "So?"

"…I wanted juice."

"They can't have an unlimited supply of everything, Ed," Havoc sighed. "Is that what all the pouting is about? Juice?"

"The lady gave me… _milk_," said Edward, pursing his lips indignantly.

Havoc made a noise of realization, recognizing Edward's strong aversion toward milk, and recalling past incidents when he came in contact with the opaque liquid. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"Nothin'," Edward mumbled, averting his eyes. "…I just.. kind'a threw the bottle.. at her head.. is all…" the last part emitted as a mere incoherent whisper.

"Edward." The colonel chose this time to intervene and stepped out from the wall, where he'd been diligently keeping an eye on the boy while finishing off his coffee. "You screamed profanities, called her an _effing pig_, and lobed a pint of milk at her head, ergo knocking her unconscious, and then screamed more profanities and stomped out of the room. I most certainly would not consider that '_nothin'_."

Havoc blinked, taken aback by the young boy's aggressive actions.

Edward merely jut out his lip. "I wanted juice," he said stolidly, as if it excused his prior assault.

"For goodness sake, Ed. You're twelve years old," Mustang chastised, glaring chidingly down at the twelve-year-old blond. "Stop acting like such a child."

"I'm _not_ a child!" Edward retorted fiercely. He stood up and stomped down the hall toward the military staff room.

"Where are you going?" Mustang called as he watched the young alchemist storm down the corridor, looking as though he would pull out a pistol on someone at any given second.

Edward snorted contemptuously. "If I can't have my juice then I'm going to take a nap."

-- --

**Anyone who watches Two And A Half Men will immediately get this.**

**R.I.P. The server woman… oh, wait, she's not dead. Nevermind. .**


	2. Of Childhood Habits

**Of Childhood Habits**

**-- --**

Colonel Mustang surveyed the sight before him with his brows quirked inquisitively and a miniscule, amused grin on his face. He had entered the room only for a cup of coffee to take the edge off of his mood, and had instead caught a sight so peculiar and rare he wasn't sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes.

Still grinning, Mustang turned and hissed into the corridor, "Hughes. Hughes, come look at this." and gestured with his hand, beckoning the lieutenant colonel. Curiously, Hughes walked into the room, his expression prominently inquisitive.

He made to speak, but Mustang held a finger to his lips to silence him and, with a growing smile, indicated with his finger. Hughes followed the colonel's gaze and had to struggle to stifle a snigger.

There, sprawled across the military staff room couch, dead to the world, was the Fullmetal alchemist. With his limbs curled against his body, golden plait dangling over his shoulder, and red coat rumpled and wound around his body, Edward painted the ideal picture of innocence.

And what made the scene even odder was that the thumb of Edward's flesh hand was jammed in his mouth. His balled fist moved rhythmically as he suckled idly on the digit, his face contorted in the turmoil of his dreams.

Hughes reached into his pocket and brandished his camera. He positioned it and took a quick snapshot of the boy, chuckling all the while. "Do you think we should wake him?" he asked his friend as he tucked away his camera.

Mustang shook his head. "He needs some rest," he replied softly. "Besides, it's not everyday that you find out the boy who became a state alchemist at age twelve turns out to be a thumb sucker."

**-- --**

**Inspired by my ten-year-old brother, who has yet to kick the thumb-sucking habit. As he so indignantly claims, **_**I don't do it all the time; only when I'm nervous or something**_**. **_**I can't help it**_**.**

**It would only be natural for Edward to divert to thumb-sucking to alleviate apprehension. Personally, I prefer to swear profusely and strangle my bedsheets, but we all have different idiosyncrasies.**


	3. Of Lessons Learned

**Of Lessons Learned**

**-- --**

"Honestly, Edward, sometimes I can't believe they ever let you join the military!" Colonel Mustang growled as he coercively hauled the twelve-year-old boy down the hallway by his wrist. "You can be so stupid!"

Edward stumbled, struggling to meet Mustang's brisk pace. His gloved hand, saturated with blood, was clamped tightly over his mouth and nose. "I'm dnot stoopid!" he retorted sharply, voice muffled by his hand.

"Yes, you are," Mustang contradicted as he palmed open the door to the military facilities and dragged Edward in. "You're impulsive and brash and you do the dumbest things that make me wonder if you even _have_ a brain!"

Mustang pulled Edward over to the sinks, lifted, and then set him on one of the porcelain basins. "You blow up buildings, you flood towns, you set houses on fire…" growled the colonel as he stalked over to the paper towel dispenser and tore out handfuls of the paper. "You beat up other alchemists, you try to slaughter people with your blade.. Christ, Ed, you gave a woman a concussion by chucking a glass bottle at her head!"

"She gabe me bmilk!" Edward replied as he took his hand away from his nose, examined the blood-soaked material, and twisted his face in disgust. "Eww, my gloves are soaked! An' nothing gets blood out!"

"You should have thought of that before," Mustang scolded as he turned on the tap and dabbed the crumpled wads of paper towel in the cold water. "Lean your head back; you're going to get blood all over the floor."

"Eww, it's getting on my shirt!" Edward whined, ignoring the colonel's words and inclining his head to try and scrub the red fluid off the collar of his shirt. Blood streamed from his nose and dribbled down his chin. He winced, clapping a hand over his face. "Ow! Mustang, my nose has a pulse!"

"Here, let me see," Mustang cupped the boy's chin in his hand and raised his head, scrutinizing the rivulets of blood leaking from his nostrils. He took the sodden towels and scrubbed at Edward's nose, wiping away the blood.

"I said lean your head _back_. Now look, you've got it all down your neck," said Mustang as he turned over the paper towels and rubbed Edward's neck, spreading streaks of bright pink across his tanned skin.

"How could you be so careless, Ed?" he asked rhetorically as he cupped Edward's cheeks and wiped at the smudges of blood speckling his brow. He removed Edward's blood-saturated gloves and pulled off his shirt, shoving them in a basin of cold water to sop. "You need to pay more attention to what you're doing."

Mustang walked into a lavatory stall and tore off several squares of toilet paper. Crumpling them up, he held back Edward's head and roughly stuffed the paper into his nostrils.

Edward shrieked. "Don't be so rough! You're gonna get them stuck in there!" and tore from Mustang's grasp, tentatively holding his poor nose.

Mustang lifted him off the sink and set him on the ground, then took his clothes out of the basin and wrung out the excess water. "Tilt your head back and keep your nose pinched until the bleeding stops," he said, grabbing Edward's wrist and tugging him toward the door. "I'm going to go throw your clothes in the washer, and then I want you to sit in my office and think about what you've done."

Edward scowled defiantly and pinched his nostrils. "Thatd'z dnot fair…"

"Too bad." Mustang thrust the door open and roughly dragged the boy out and down the hallway. He whipped his head around to send Edward a chastising look. "Now, what have you learned today?"

Edward sighed heavily through his mouth and sniffled. "Dnot to rund in the halls, 'zbecially whebn Armstwong is aroubnd."

**-- --**

**Inspired by the time when I was chasing my little brother around and he rammed into a table. I've never seen so much blood come out of someone's nose before. Seriously, it was like a bloody Niagara Falls.**

**Edward-chan is so obtuse. He should know that running in the corridors is dangerous; especially with a behemoth like Armstrong lurking in the building.**


	4. Of Unconventional Tactics

**Of Unconventional Tactics**

**-- --**

The Fuhrer's one unconcealed eye flickered between the two alchemists standing before him. His expression retained its normal impassivity, but his curiously quirked brow gave way to his inquisitiveness.

Colonel Mustang had one hand on Edward's shoulder, the other hand indicating to the Fuhrer. He wore a face of ire, but his eyes glistened with concealed warmth. "Edward," he said to the blond, "the sooner you apologize to the Fuhrer, the sooner we can leave."

Edward shot him a fierce glare before averting his gaze to the floor. His arms were crossed over his chest defiantly, and he sported an expression of utter recalcitrance.

The colonel did not seem fazed by the boy's attitude. He bent to be eyelevel with the younger alchemist. "Edward, we're not leaving here until you apologize."

Edward responded with a vicious look, which Mustang echoed back. Silent words were exchanged, and the Fuhrer found himself intrigued by the inarticulate conversation.

"_She gave me milk!"_

"_That didn't give you the right to beat her unconscious with the bottle."_

"_I was angry!"_

"_That doesn't excuse your actions."_

"Edward. Apologize to the Fuhrer."

Edward shook his head.

"Edward… apologize."

The blond sent the colonel a tenacious, challenging look, refusing to be defeated by such facile words. Mustang breathed a tired sigh.

"Mustang," Bradley intervened. "You don't have to force the boy to—"

The colonel cut him off, offering the Fuhrer a reassuring look. Then, to Bradley's surprise, Mustang reached over and gently poked the back of Edward's neck. The boy flinched, hunching his shoulder as though to protect the sensitive area.

Mustang brought his hand down to prod at Edward's ribs, eliciting a small, strangled giggle. Edward twisted his face comically as he swatted away the larger hand. The colonel continued his assail, poking at Edward's back and neck and gliding unmerciful fingers across his sides and belly.

To the Fuhrer's utter amusement, Edward began to writhe and giggle, gasping and laughing in intervals. "Hahahah— okay, o-okay!" Mustang paused momentarily and poised his hands above Edward's ribs, his fingers hovering threateningly.

The blond scowled in defeat and turned to look at the Fuhrer, sifting his hand through his hair hesitantly. "..'m sorry I made a scene in the cafeteria and knocked out Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a milk bottle."

Bradley's eyes glittered in delight, and he smiled warmly at the young alchemist. "Apology accepted, Fullmetal. You and the colonel may leave now."

Mustang bowed politely and led his blond subordinate toward the door. Edward crossed his arms and jut out his lip in a pout. "I hate it when you do that to me," he whined as the colonel guided him out the door and down the corridor.

Mustang smirked and tugged teasingly on Edward's braid. "Well, if you would cooperate I wouldn't have to resort to such unconventional tactics."

**-- --**

**Inspired by the method I use with my three-year-old cousin when she flops on the floor and throws a tantrum. I just roll her around with my feet and poke her with my toes until she stops crying. (I'm too lazy to bend over and use my hands. Lol.)**

**I apologize for the delay. I caught a cold from my —ratbastard— father and the world kept spinning and I couldn't get off. Also, someone pilfered all the Advil in the house, so I had to get better the natural way, because I refuse to use Tylenol. It's ineffective, tastes like socks, and it gets caught in my throat.**


	5. Of Petty Tantrums

**Of Petty Tantrums**

**-- --**

"I— hate— this— suit!"

Colonel Mustang looked up just in time to see his office door be violently thrust open, leaving a large indention in the wall behind it. An irate young blond tromped into the room, fists clutched at his side and countenance twisted into a livid visage.

Mustang quirked a brow, an obdurate frown arching on his face. "Edward, how many times have I told you to knock before you enter?" he chastised the young boy. "And what did I say about slamming the door? One of these days it's going to go flying right off its hinges."

"I don't care! I'll slam it if I wan'ta!" Edward contradicted, jerking violently on the rumpled tie tangled around his neck. "Don't change the subject! I hate this suit and I'm not going to wear it!"

"We discussed this already," said Mustang with a noisy sigh. "It's a formal dinner, Edward, and it'd be rude to show up wearing slacks and a jacket. You need to dress properly."

"But I don't wan'ta! There's nothing wrong with wearing a jacket!" Edward retorted, as he continued to battle with his tie.

"Ed, I'm not going repeat yesterdays fight." The colonel stood from his desk stiffly, lethargic lines creasing his brow, as though he'd gone through a fierce war a thousand times over. "Now, tell me what's wrong with the suit."

"It's stupid!" Edward said bluntly, tearing at his coat. "It's too big, and the buttons are stupid! And the pants are too long; look, the bottoms drag on the floor! And it's itchy inside! The material is too rough!"

Mustang walked over and crouched on one knee in front of the ranting, flailing boy and surveyed his attire. Edward was dressed in a navy pea coat that, Mustang concurred, was bulky on his small frame. The sleeves dangled off his hands and the hem ended at his bottom. The dark blue trousers underneath sagged, the ends falling over his shoes and dragging on the floor.

At the amused expression Mustang donned, Edward's cheeks burned even more. "See! It looks ridiculous! It's too big and it looks stupid! I'm not going to wear it, and you can't make me!" he crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, daring his superior to change his mind.

"Edward.." Mustang paused, exhaling heavily. "It doesn't fit because you're wearing it wrong. See?" He raised Edward's arms and pulled on the sleeves, slipping the jacket over his head. "You've got it on backwards. The buttons are on the wrong side."

The blond glowered and pursed his lips. "I thought the buttons were supposed to be on the back," he admitted stolidly.

"You've got the necktie all tangled up. Don't you know how to knot a tie?" Mustang proceeded as he wove his fingers into the knotted necktie and nimbly unraveled it. He unwound it from Edward's neck and smoothed out the creases with his fingers.

"Why would I learn how to knot a tie?" Edward retorted briskly. "I never wear ties." He grabbed his slipping trousers and pulled them up to prevent them from falling down to his ankles.

"This suit's too big. Doesn't it come in sm— less larger sizes?"

Mustang gave a nasal sigh. "This was the smallest.." —Edward's brow twitched— "..size they carried."

The blond alchemist crossed his arms in his adoptive gesture of insolence. "Fine, then. I guess I can't go. 'Cuz I'm certainly not gonna go dressed in _this_ dumb thing. I'll get laughed at."

"Don't be so childish," Mustang chided, threading a hand through his dark hair. "Look, all we have to do is improvise and you'll look fine."

Edward raised a brow daringly. Mustang took hold of the blond's trousers and pulled them up, then started to fold up the bottoms. "Wear a belt to hold the waist up," he said.

The colonel then took Edward's pea coat and slipped his arms through the sleeve. "It isn't that long. Roll up the cuffs and it'll fit fine." He took the boy's hands and rolled back the sleeves, then buttoned up the front.

"And with your tie, just tuck it in your coat and _don't pull on it_." He wound the necktie around Edward's neck and tied it into a simple half-windsor knot, then straightened it out and tucked it into Edward's coat.

"There. Done." Mustang slipped Edward's braid out of the coat and then stood up to examine his work. "I think it looks good. What about you?"

Edward inclined his head, scrutinizing his outfit. He bent over to fix the rolled-up bottoms of his trousers and straightened the cuffs of his coat. His expression became dismal and sullen, his lip protruding in a small pout.

"Oh, no. Now I have to go to the dinner, don't I?"

**-- --**

**Not my **_**best**_** work, but the mind can only operate so potently when under the negative influence of a virus. Speaking of which, I revenged myself by giving my cold to my brother and mum (though that only made me more angry. Mum's real divvy when she's sick).**

**Not only that, but since the weather has gotten better, the kids have dug out their baseball bats and hockey sticks and I've buggered up my ankles and wrists something fierce trying to hit the balls my minor-league-star little brother lobes at me. I swear, I'm doing the best I can!**

—**Squees at the mental image of Edward in a pea coat— OhmyGod, he'd make just a darling paper boy!**


End file.
